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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693317">the actual world</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamjay/pseuds/hamjay'>hamjay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Archery, Blood, Hunting, M/M, NO CAPES, Nature, No Beta, just regular people, small town life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:48:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamjay/pseuds/hamjay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy and Lian moved to a little town called Dove, Maine. The folk are private but kind, and the woods make for excellent company.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roy Harper/Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. broadside</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/gifts">Shenanigans</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning: Roy hunts and kills an animal in this chapter. There is blood and animal death, not glorified, and our boy Roy would only ever take a shot he knows would be merciful.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>November. Expanded Archery Deer Hunting Season.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Mid morning sun cut in through naked tree branches and glittered across frosted bark. Oak leaves, brown, dry, and crisp underfoot, made moving slow for a careful tracker. The temperature was going to rise a few degrees in the next hour and moisten the woods with melted frost, but at the moment it stayed cool. The bite of night time cold hadn’t yet evaporated from the blue shadows of granite boulders and the broad dark sides of maple trunks. </p><p>The fallen foliage left twisting limbs grey against the clear blue Autumn sky, entwining like lace overhead, a net to contain the life of the forest inside. Only the aviate tenants could truly pierce through it. Hemlock, white pine, and the occasional mat of stubborn moss broke the brown and grey woods with forms of green. Younger hemlock stood at waist height, sparse and gangly. Gloved fingers, soft and worn brown deer hide, gently pushed aside one flexible stem to make passage through the undergrowth. As he let go it returned to it’s usual twisted upright form as if he’d never passed by, leaving only the mark of his smell on the spray of green needles and scaly bark.</p><p>Emerald eyes flicked in patterns across the leaf litter ground, then up at the surroundings, then down again. Roy listened to the creaking of trees, the morning birdsong, and the rustle of the forest understory as small creatures picked through it. Squirrels and chipmunks were the chattiest, always squeaking and barking at each other, tussling for the last morsels to add to their winter stashes. </p><p>The fallen foliage made tracking harder than in the snowy months, but Roy wasn’t deterred. With patience, he had followed the northwestward trail of a single adult white tail deer ever since an hour after sunrise. It left disturbances in the litter, droppings, and the occasional print in a lucky patch of bare dirt. If he lost this thread then he’d bag a few squirrels. A day in the woods was a good day in Roy’s book. It was challenging and rewarding work for both mind and body.</p><p>The sun climbed higher and temperatures went with it. His breath no longer puffed thin and cloudy into the forest ahead of him. He turned his cap forward so that the bill shaded his eyes, and kept his nose from turning red in the direct sunlight. Roy was beginning to think it was time for a break to eat something more than the power snack bars he kept in his pockets, when 100 yards through the trees he spotted the unnatural horizontal line of a stone wall. He followed the deer trail right up to the two foot high wall and along it to a crumpled section. It was obvious where his mark had gone next. </p><p>Though it wasn’t always true that a stone wall marked a property line out in the woods, it was reasonable enough to assume that Roy’s free range fun was ending if he intended to follow his deer. Breaking out of his careful and thoughtful pace, Roy backed away a few yards from the wall and looked left and right along the length he could see. He crossed his fingers, hoping he could move on without any trouble. </p><p>The bright yellow square of a <em>posted</em> sign dashed the archers hopes and he trudged up to where it kept guard over private property, nailed to the trunk of an old maple tree two feet above head height. The clear words ‘No Trespassing’ ‘No Hunting’ left no room for ambiguity. Roy was not allowed to pass the old stone wall and his implied right of access was revoked. He folded his arms over his chest and dug his tongue into his cheek unhappily. Beneath the rain stained warning, faded by the elements, was a handwritten addendum to this posting. It looked like black Sharpie written on the yellow plastic sign. </p><p>Roy stepped up to the stone wall and climbed it, careful of loose rocks, and placed his hands against the tree for stability. From here he could better read the note, pretending he were on an archeological dig transcribing runes weathered by millenia. </p><p>“Call for access…” There was a number written beside the note. Roy hopped off the wall, startling a junco into flight from the nearest bush with his quick movement. He hiked his backpack off with practiced ease and carefully rested it on the ground, mindful of his expensive compound bow and the arrows in his quiver. He pulled off one glove and tucked it inside the orange high visibility vest he wore over his brown flannel. From the side zip pocket of the bag he pulled out his phone.</p><p>There was enough reception here to make a call, perhaps it was meant to be. Roy didn’t want to hope too hard that the property owner would give Roy permission to hunt on his land, but there had to be something said for the door left open by the number. It was certainly better than no door at all, and the owner had to be a pragmatist and understand folks might be coming off the open land and into their woods. </p><p>“Their” woods. Roy rolled his eyes as he climbed back up the wall and leaned his shoulder into the maple. “Woods don’t belong to anyone. At least no one like you,” Roy grumbled as he entered the number into his cell phone, glancing between it and the yellow sign as he decoded the faded handwriting. </p><p>With the number deciphered and Roy’s phone ringing, he collected his thoughts. He hadn’t talked with anyone since he said goodbye to Lian before dawn that morning and he hoped to make a good enough impression over the phone with this stranger. Roy thought about the deer he was after, the good size of it’s prints for viable age, the possibility that it was a buck and perfect to bag this season. </p><p>The line was answered but no one spoke on the other side. Folk here were mighty private and it was an answered prayer someone had picked up a call from his unknown number at all.</p><p>“Hello?” Roy cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m out here hunting and I just came up on your property line from the south.”</p><p>“Huh. Did ya’ now?” The sound of a rough male voice came across the phone. “And you actually called instead of barging right in.”</p><p>“Yes sir,” he said, aiming to sound respectful. Blame his cordiality on the man’s deep growl that made Roy imagine an older backcountry man who might not like someone crossing him or his property line. </p><p>“A little courtesy can go a long way,” Roy added, making it clear he was going to be asking for the man’s good favor. “I’m a bow hunter. Do you mind if I keep on this trail over your wall? Been following a deer since this morning and I have a feeling it’s a buck. The prints dig in the dirt well enough when I can find ‘em and I think it could be 200 pounds or more.” Roy tried to paint a picture of the animal he’s been after and that he’s not an amateur that will go bumbling around the guys property after the ghost of anything that moves.</p><p>It was quiet for a few long seconds and Roy glanced at the screen of his phone to be sure he hadn’t lost the signal and hung up on accident. </p><p>“What’s your name?” the man asked eventually.</p><p>“Roy Harper, sir.”</p><p>“I’m Jason. And you can quit with that ‘sir’ thing. What’s your address?”</p><p>Roy grinned and relayed the address of his new home in the trailer park on the west side of the little town, the one across from the aged and lichen covered cemetery. Jason must have been writing it down, planning to confront him if Roy misbehaved on his property. Roy climbed off of the wall and sat down with his gear, digging out the lunch he packed and ate bites while they talked.</p><p>“What’s your hunting license number? You got your tags with you? Are you wearing something orange?” Roy answered Jason’s questions, three, and the sphinx eventually granted him permission to access. “I’ll call the dogs in so that they won’t scare the buck off. I’ve got twenty acres for you to run around in, and there’s no need for you to come up in the northeast corner where the house is, understood?”</p><p>“Understood.”</p><p>“There’s more open forest on my west side. East is the road. North is my neighbor and they won’t mind you coming through their lot. Call me when you leave.” Then Jason sounded a little lighter and a little younger than Roy had originally pegged him for. “It’s a beautiful day out there today. Happy hunting.”</p><p>A smile spread on Roy’s chapped lips. “Thank you.” The line went dead and Roy dropped his phone back into the side pocket. Excited by his success, Roy made quick work of his lunch then pulled on his bag. He marched back to the crumpled section of wall where he’d left the trail and paused. </p><p>It was good to have his morale so high, but it was important to be focused, too. The smile seemed stuck to his face and Roy let it be. He took a long slow breath and turned his eyes to the ground and the last indication of the deer he’d marked, a freshly scraped patch of moss on the tumbled stones. Onward he went. </p><p>Afternoon brought with it a change of activity in the forest. The black shapes of turkey vultures circled overhead on thermals using broad outstretched wings. Small gnats, having somehow avoided freezing overnight, hovered around a warm slimy mushroom that sat in the sunshine under an Oak. A pair of sparrows boldly dove past Roy’s shoulder then flickered up and disappeared into the canopy. The detritus underfoot warmed and the aroma tickled Roy’s nose.</p><p>After forty five minutes of walking northwest, Roy spotted more droppings as he walked up a slight incline. The dark pellets looked glossy. Roy looked carefully through the naked trees and saw no sign of the deer in the direction he was tracking. He crouched and tugged his glove off and tested the heat of the leavings with his knuckles. Fresh. Roy kept calm, despite biting his lip to contain a grin. Just because he didn’t see the deer, didn’t mean it wasn’t close by and waiting for him over the gentle slope.</p><p>On a half buried log nearby, Roy sat and unstrapped his bow and quiver from his backpack. After checking his gear and slinging the quiver comfortably onto his back he paused for several long moments to mentally prepare for the coming moments. He paid attention to the gentle breeze coming from the east and listened to his heartbeat, willing it to calm. Confidence, humble and well-earned, replaced Roy’s excitement. </p><p>He left his backpack and gloves at the log and stalked slow and quiet up the slope towards the north and crouched beside a young bushy white pine at the top to hide his silhouette. The ground crested and gently declined on the other side into a trickling creek bed, with a raised ridge across from him, just like this one. The deer stood some odd 30 yards away sniffing at the water-smooth stones, facing away from Roy. The light breeze carried his smell away and to the side, and the heat of the afternoon and rising air meant, if anything, he was downwind of the deer by staying up on the ridge. </p><p>Roy couldn’t have asked for a better position. He knelt and sat back on his heels at a 90 degree angle to his target, quickly making himself comfortable. From a paracord string around his neck Roy lifted his rangefinder and sighted the deer, playing his usual game at guessing the distance then double checking with the tool. Roy guessed 30 yards, the finder said 33, and he pinched his tongue between his teeth. He altered his yardage reference on the bow. One hand lifted and reached back to select a single arrow and brought it down to nock on the string, slow and easy, red fletching sliding between his fingers. From within his sleeve Roy let out the string release tool wrapped around his wrist. </p><p>The deer moved its head to the side and Roy finally saw what kind of rack it was carrying. Six point. And the buck itself was a good size and well worth the day of tracking. Roy had seen a few other sets of tracks during the day but this fellow had seemed to be the largest and most recent, therefore the best choice to follow.</p><p>With the adjustments made to his sight, and his release tool attached to the D-loop, Roy lifted the bow and knew, already, that this was going to be a perfect shot. </p><p>The buck shifted and took a step two steps to the left, canting it’s body at a 45 degree angle to Roy. It wasn’t the broadside that Roy wanted to see, but it was getting close. There was no need to shoot early and make the animal suffer by missing the heart, or at least a double lung shot. So he pulled back and aligned his body and mind in preparation. He marked the right corner of his mouth with the cool metal of the release, an inch behind the switch that his first finger hovered against. The string tickled beneath the point of Roy’s nose, and scratched the edge of his hat brim. </p><p>Behind the foreleg elbow, a little lower than the midline, Roy fixed his sight and yard pin. His shoulders stayed strong and reliable at full draw while he waited for the buck to show him the broadside. The right hoof lifted and the buck stepped in the wrong direction, showing Roy it’s fluffy white tail and the back of it’s head again. It stepped over the trickling water and climbed the other side of the creek bed at a leisurely pace. Roy’s abdomen was starting to strain and shiver and distract him, along with a burning in his thighs. </p><p>It would be easy to relax and let the moment pass, but Roy refused to miss the shot. If the deer turned again he knew he could make it. He drew a slow breath in through his nose and calmed his body, tired from a day scrambling over logs and rocks. The sight went steady again and followed the furry brown shoulder blades.</p><p>At the top of the rise, now level and opposite Roy, the buck swayed it’s head back and forth and decided to turn right and walk the line of the ridge. Seeing the heart come into view again, Roy exhaled fully. The last thing he did was account for the slow pace of the walking gait, then he himself went completely still.</p><p>And rested his finger on the release trigger and felt the ghost of the string under the tip of his nose.</p><p>And didn’t move until he saw the razor sharp iron broad head pierce the ribcage and cut straight through to the other side. The animal jumped and darted down the ridge, becoming increasingly clumsy, until it collapsed 20 yards from the impact. It’s head bobbed back and forth for a few moments, then the whole deer fell onto its side.</p><p>Roy rested the bow down in his lap and heaved a sigh. He shook the nerves out of his normally steady hands.</p><p>Turning immediately to the pine beside him, Roy produced his bush knife from his thigh pocket and cut an arm full of the branches away, careful to take only as much as he needed. He left his bow resting on the leaves nearby and took the branches down into the creek bed and up the other side to the deer. After glancing at the sky and orienting himself, Roy made a bed of boughs beside the buck with the green ends pointing South towards town and subsequently toward his home. When he stepped up beside his kill he inspected the face of the creature and found it dead, with pupils wide and no breath. There was blood flowing from both sides of its ribcage. Roy carefully avoided getting a handful of blood and grabbed the deer by its forelegs. He grunted and huffed as he dragged it into position over the branches, pointing it’s antlers South as well. With the animal laying correctly in its bed, Roy left to go gather his backpack and bow.</p><p>The field dressing was messy, but it was always that way. Roy, stripped down to his white tank top and wearing latex gloves, hat backwards and pinning his red hair out of his face, wrestled the creature apart in the afternoon light. He talked to it when he had the breath for it, couldn't stop himself. “Come on, stay up. Like that. Now don’t move while I-” It was hard work, but he didn’t feel completely alone. The deer was here with him after all. After half a day on it’s trail Roy felt like they were acquainted by now. </p><p>He was nearly finished when a sound disturbed the woods. A man’s voice, strong and clear, 100 yards off. Distracted by his work, Roy hadn’t made out the words. He paused and caught his breath, scratching his beard on his shoulder. </p><p>“Harper!” Roy heard it clearly this time, coming from the east. “You out here?” That had to be Jason. Roy wondered what the hell he’d done to piss the guy off.</p><p>It was best to be honest and friendly until Roy knew what was wrong. He was slowly settling back into Dove, the town he grew up in until winds of life scattered him elsewhere. It wouldn't do to piss off one of the land owners.</p><p>“Over here!” Roy shouted, his voice cracking. It felt so strange after a day of quiet focus, to call out with such abandon. He sat back on one heel, the other knee bent up at an angle, and rested his bloody hands on the pine boughs, waiting with his knife. Jason didn’t call back to him so he figured the man had heard him well enough and was on his way. The anticipation was killing him. Roy was losing light on these short Autumnal afternoons. He needed to wrap up the dressing and start dragging this thing back to his truck at the dirt parking lot he started from that morning.</p><p>Across the creek bed by the same white pine Roy had taken his shot from earlier, the shape of a man trudged into view. It felt, for a moment, like time and space were twisting and Roy was the deer, and there was his hunter on the opposite ridge, waiting for Roy to show his broadside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. buck's bed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: There is still a dead animal in this chapter, mentions of blood, and the general handling of a game animal. Otherwise it's a nice chapter.</p><p>Information: The Appalachian Trail is a hiking trail spanning the East coast of the USA. It's 2,200mi (3,500km) long and takes 5-7 months to complete. It starts in Georgia and ends in the middle of Maine, on Mount Katahdin. Katahdin was named by the Penobscot Indians and means "Greatest Mountain".</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy shivered.</p><p>Then Jason stepped down into the creek bed and climbed up the other side to join him around the deer. Roy looked up at the stranger from where he knelt and did his damnedest not to worry too much about the rifle relaxing against Jason’s shoulder. Roy wasn’t scared of guns. He <em> liked </em> guns. He didn't like being caught tired and unarmed on a stranger's property. </p><p>“Six point buck. And a heart shot? Well done,” Jason said, looking at the deer and not at Roy. He had the same deep timbered voice from the phone that could spell fathoms of kindness or displeasure, yet walked the knifes edge between the two. He couldn’t have been older than Roy was, thirty eight.</p><p>Jason reminded Roy of a black bear. He was big, taller than Roy, and larger in every way. Where Roy’s shoulders tapered down to a trim waist and straight, long legs, Jason started broad in the shoulders and never slimmed. His chest was wide, hip curved when he jut one out to the side, and his thighs were big enough to draw the denim of his jeans taught around them. The hood of a black sweatshirt stuck out of the back of Jason’s red and black plaid wool button down. A dark red knit hat was pulled down over the tips of the man’s ears and forced his black hair to protrude from under it, curly and unruly. </p><p>Roy had to look twice before registering the scars on the man's face. A pale one cut diagonally on Jason’s chin through his black stubble. Another on the left side of Jason’s upper lip curled into a permanent snarl and showed the glimmer of a pearly tooth beneath. It continued up the high cheek bone, skipped the narrow grey eye, and ended in a missing chunk from one heavy black brow like a punctuation.</p><p>Jason inspected the animal from beneath a smudge of black lashes. When he lifted his gaze to turn it on Roy they tickled the thick low brows. </p><p>“You’re running out of daylight,” Jason told him, accurately predicting that Roy wouldn’t be packed up and on his way by the time the orange light of afternoon turned blue and cold. Then Roy would have to drag the buck back to his starting point as night fell.</p><p>Fuck, Roy thought. So Jason had come here to flush him out. Did Jason bring the rifle along to intimidate the little bow hunter? Was he going to force Roy to leave the deer now that he’d done all the work of tracking and killing?</p><p>Then Jason announced the reason for seeking him out. “I thought I’d give you a hand dragging this out of the woods. The house is closer than wherever it is you came from. We can toss it in my truck and I’ll give you a ride.”</p><p>Roy let out a sigh of relief and looked down at the creature. “Shit. Thanks, that’s really nice of you.”</p><p>A man like Jason could drag the deer <em> and </em> Roy out of the woods, both dead, if he wanted. Roy’s not sure why he jumped straight to Murderer in the Woods, but he’s damn happy that’s not the case.</p><p>Jason ambled away and propped his rifle against a nearby boulder then returned, hiking his sleeves up over his wrists. “What do you need?”</p><p>Roy wiped his nose along his forearm and got up so he could stand with a foot on either side of the deer. “Can you just grab his forelegs and stretch him a little so I can get the rest of these organs out?” Jason stood by the head and grabbed the legs, moving them until the slack was pulled out of the limp body.</p><p>They didn’t talk much while Roy worked, needing all of his concentration to finish the job while the light was good. He dumped the organs aside to the earth for coyotes and turkey vultures to feast on. Together they flipped the deer from its back to its front to drain excess blood from the cavity. Then Roy stepped away to clean himself up the best that he could, which consisted of disposing the gloves and wiping his tattooed arms down with a handful of baby wipes from his pack. </p><p>He stuffed the soiled gloves and wipes in a little trash bag. He plucked up his grey cotton long sleeve and tugged it over his head, but packed his brown flannel away, expecting to work up a little sweat while they dragged the deer through the forest. “How did you know where to find me?”</p><p>Jason jerked his chin to indicate the area of the creek. “I’ve got game cameras out here.”</p><p>It prickled the back of Roy’s neck to know he had been watched without realizing it. “And you didn’t call to let me know where my buck was headed? You could have hurried my day along if you had,” he pointed out.</p><p>“Yeah, I could have called. But you seem like someone who enjoys the work,” Jason said, the snarl of his lip increasing in the shape of a good natured smile. Was that a compliment? Roy wanted it to be. </p><p>From his pack Roy took out a coiled twelve foot cord, then stashed his tools and secured his bow and quiver. He put the bag on his back and went to the deer. Jason stepped close again without a word and they rolled the animal onto one side. Roy doubled the rope over itself and secured one end around the base of the antlers. He started to look up and around for a good stick to tie on the other end and found Jason already holding one out to him, three foot long and perfect thickness to use as a handle.</p><p>“Thanks.” Roy tied the rope around the middle of the stick and got to his feet, holding it with his left hand on one side of the rope. “Shall we?”</p><p>Jason retrieved his rifle and slung it across his back by the strap. “Home’s that way,” he said, indicating east with one hand. Then Jason took the other side of the stick in his right hand. Standing beside each other, Roy could smell the smoky perfume of wood fire and cigarettes around Jason. It reminded him of sitting shoulder to shoulder with Raymond, watching a campfire burn to coals on a blue desert night between pockets of whispering sagebrush.</p><p>They pulled at the same time, rocked forward, and walked the line of the ridge toward the east. They kept a steady pull on the rope and their makeshift handle, sharing the load of a 200 pound buck. After a few minutes of dragging, listening to the rustle of dry leaves and grass tufts, their steps became synched. They glanced at the ground to ensure steady footing, and then ahead to look for obstacles.</p><p>“Did you move into Dove recently?” Jason asked. In a small town of 1,000 souls, Roy’s new face stuck out like a sore thumb.</p><p>“We moved here in August, me and my daughter, Lian.” The sun slipped below the tree line causing the woods to begin cooling. The exertion of the drag kept Roy warm and sweat prickled his spine. “She’s fifteen and smart as a whip. I’m worried she’ll outpace me soon. If she hasn’t already,” he said with a chuckle.</p><p>“It’s for the best. That’s what kids are for, right? To do better than us?” </p><p>Roy smiled, nodding in wholehearted agreement. He chanced a glance away from their path to look at Jason who had a pleasant calm look about him. The scars on the left side of his face was hidden from Roy. “You must have kids.”</p><p>“Not me.” Jason ducked under a low branch, never breaking his stride. Roy looked forward again. “Where’d you come from?” Jason's voice gave away his every thought. He sounded perfectly curious about the stranger.</p><p>“Georgia. But I grew up here. Moved away when I was fourteen."</p><p>The light blue sky of afternoon was deepening into a vivid sapphire as evening marched in. A glance over his shoulder revealed a golden glow to the west, a sunset they couldn’t see through the trees. Bird song faded with the light and sometimes the strong croaking of a crow cut through the woods. Roy continued on.</p><p>"I've come back, now and then. I hiked the Appalachian twice. When I got to Katahdin, both times, I just didn't want to stop. I wanted to keep on walking into the woods."</p><p>"So you finally came back to the woods?" Jason asked, a little amused, a little kindred, at least that's what Roy heard in his voice.</p><p>“It's where I need to be. Have you always lived in Dove?”</p><p>“Born and raised here.”</p><p>They paused in the conversation when the ground began to incline. They breathed a little harder as they tugged on the rope, stepping carefully and slowly. At the top Jason suggested that they take a break. Roy sat down on a rock and took his water bottle out, drinking the last gulps left.</p><p>“How are you settling in?” Jason asked once he caught his breath. </p><p>Roy gasped as he lowered his water bottle and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Pretty good. You know, a few of my old friends never moved away. Lian though, she misses Georgia and her old friends there. She's doing okay I think, making friends in that little school and all that. But we talked about this move for a long time."</p><p>"Missed it that much, huh?"</p><p>"I did. It's also good for her and our friend, Grant. He'll be moving up from Georgia in the spring."</p><p>"How old is she? Lian?"</p><p>"Fifteen." Roy pulled his pack on while he sat, then pushed himself to his feet. His energy was waning. “Damn, I am not getting any younger,” he said, plucking up their dragging stick once more. Jason took his place beside him.</p><p>“Yeah, but you tracked this thing all day. I wouldn’t go beating yourself up about being a little tired,” Jason reminded him, paying Roy credit that he’d earned. It felt good to hear.</p><p>They heaved against the rope together to get their momentum started and set off. The buck lurched and settled as it slid, it’s body lax and pliant over rocks and sticks on the ground. It’s brown and white fur was stained red on the belly, a splash of vibrant color in the dimming woods. The air was beginning to taste wet and cold.</p><p>“So, you like hunting?” Jason started up their conversation again. Roy simply followed Jason’s lead through the trees, his sense of eastward direction lost as they walked over wooded knolls, down into creek beds, and around massive boulders.</p><p>“I always have, since I was a kid. I'll bag a couple squirrels now and then but this is my first deer harvest since I moved up here.” Roy looked back at the heavy brown body dragging behind them, then up at the deep navy sky overhead. “This morning, just after dawn, I found the place he had been sleeping. The grass was all pressed down into the shape of his body. It was a nice bed sheltered by a big bank of brush on the side.” Roy had reached down, into the large kidney shaped impression, and touched the flattened grass. “Everything except his bed had been frosted over. He’d kept that spot warm all night.” It was tempting to lay down in that bed. Roy could have tucked himself behind the brush and into the grass. “I could see his tracks pretty well where it disturbed the frost. Then when the frost melted I had to go a lot slower. I saw where he’d found a patch of grass he liked and ate for a while.” Roy had squatted there and taken a water break. “And from there I tracked him to your stone wall.”</p><p>“And then you called me.”</p><p>“And then I called you.”</p><p>It was becoming increasingly difficult to pick out steady footing in the dark and Roy was about to suggest that he pull out his head lamp from his bag when a small orange square appeared in the distance. The tree trunks were only dark silhouettes now, illuminated by the glow of a half moon. Night was here.</p><p>“Is that your place?” Roy wondered. The shape of a building began to form out of the watery darkness. The orange square was a window, and there were more of them now. </p><p>“Yupp, nearly there.” They broke out of the tree line and into the clearing around the house. It was easier to drag the deer now without the obstacles of the forest. The scrub grass of the lawn brushed around Roy’s pants and he dreaded the intense tick check he’d need to do before bed. </p><p>The shadow of the log house was two stories high with an intensely sloped roof. On one side was a single story addition, a garage, Roy learned, when they came up alongside it. A motion sensing light over the doors clicked on and lit a circle of the dirt driveway. They dragged the deer up to the edge of the dirt then Jason let go and walked up to the garage and grabbed the handle, giving out a solid grunt as he lifted. His fingers caught the bottom lip once it was high enough and he pushed the door into its raised position over his head. Roy dropped the stick handle and squatted down to rest while Jason disappeared into the garage. Another motion sensing light clicked on inside and Roy leaned forward a little, interested in what Jason might have in there. He saw a few metal racks against the far wall with storage bins. Roy identified the makings of a camping kit, a tent and a cooking stove. </p><p>A car door slammed shut and the sound of an engine started up. A black Dodge Ram 2500 nosed out of the garage, slow and easy, until the end of the truck bed was drawn up beside Roy. Jason got out and walked around to the back and flipped the tailgate down then climbed up and opened the tool box behind the cab. He withdrew a tarp and spread it out. Jason jumped down again, agile as a big cat, boots crunching the dirt beneath him. Together they heaved the buck into the bed and Jason climbed up once more to tuck the tarp around it while Roy leaned his elbow on the side. </p><p>“Sweet ride.”</p><p>“You like it?” Jason grinned. Roy watched the broad planes of the man’s jaw highlighted by the overhead floodlight, and the shiny scars. He didn’t mean to stare, and made sure not to gawk rudely. Besides some curiosity about the scars origin, it didn’t even bother Roy. It didn’t ruin Jason’s looks. “I love this thing. The truck really keeps up with me, y’know?” Satisfied with the tarp, Jason returned to the tailgate, planted one hand on the edge, and jumped down once more. He flicked the tailgate up with a solid <em>thunk</em> then went to the garage and tugged the carport door down and closed. “You need something from the house before we head out? Water, bathroom?” he asked with hospitality that warmed Roy’s heart.</p><p>“I’m good. As curious as I am to see inside this cabin of yours, I really should move on. Lian will stay up watching TV all night if I don’t come home.” As if he would stay the night? Here, at Jason’s? That was a weird way of wording it. But Jason only shrugged and headed to the cab. Roy shook his head as he did the same, figuring he was just tired. </p><p>When he opened the passenger door he paused, waiting while Jason pulled a blanket off of the passenger seat from across the console. It had dog hair all over it. “Alright,” Jason grunted, tossing the blanket into the back seat, and Roy chucked his bag on the floor and climbed in and shut the door. He buckled up but Jason never did the same, just flicked the car into drive. He filled the whole seat on the drivers side, shoulders wide and thighs thick.</p><p>The headlights lit the way down the dirt driveway. “You know the Blue Creek parking lot?” Roy asked.</p><p>“Sure do. Is that where you started from this morning?”</p><p>Roy nodded. The truck bounced a little on the uneven driveway for half a mile then they reached the paved road and Jason turned left. </p><p>Roy pawed at his bag in the dark and pulled his phone out. It was 7pm and his battery was nearly dead. There was one text from Lian but he couldn’t reply. “No signal,” he mumbled. </p><p>“It’s hit or miss out here. Usually miss."</p><p>“I must have had some earlier while we were dragging because I got a text from Lian. It’s just a skull emoji with a question mark. It means she wants to know if I’m dead in the woods or not,” he explained with a light laugh. </p><p>“Does she ever hunt with you?”</p><p>“Now and then I can convince her. But she’s a good shot regardless,” he said proudly and tucked his phone away. “Alright, enough about me. What’s your story, stranger?” Roy asked lightly.</p><p>“Me?” Jason sounded good natured about being put on the spot. “Well there’s not much to say. I grew up here, in Dove.”</p><p>“Well, what about your place? Did you build that cabin?” Roy prompted him, still curious about getting a look inside beyond the walls of oak logs.</p><p>Jason smiled in the dark of the cab, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his own thigh. “I did. It's ongoing. But much more comfortable than the little shed I made to live in while I got the walls up. Drying and treating the logs alone ate up a good two years. Not to mention it’s slow work in the winter time.”</p><p>“And that’s what you do? You build log cabins?”</p><p>“No, just mine. I’m a writer.”</p><p>“No kidding?” Roy’s interest piqued. “What kind? <em> Please </em> tell me you write sappy romance novels,” he begged, causing Jason to laugh. The thought of this rough and strong woodsman writing <em> romance</em>, complete with wanton sighs and chance meetings was exciting to Roy.<br/><br/>Jason waved his hand a little to settle them down so he could talk through his own laughter. “I'm writer and creator of NorthEast Outlaw magazine, an outdoors journal,” he explained. “Been going strong for four years now.” The man paused, biting his bottom lip against a smile. “And...I write fiction,” Jason admitted.</p><p>“I knew it,” Roy crowed. “Tell me, is there a happy ending?”</p><p>“You don’t even know what kind of stories I write," Jason protested. “I could write horror, or thriller!”</p><p>“C’mon, Jay,” Roy encouraged him. “Tell me about the requited love, the tender moments between star crossed lovers fighting against the odds!”</p><p>“You’re making me blush,” Jason complained about all the teasing. Damn, Roy suddenly wished he could see more than Jason’s shadow in the dark cab, barely lit by the reflection of the high beams. Jason palmed the wheel, turning them onto a new road. “Yes,” he finally said. “There’s a happy ending.”</p><p>Roy sat back in his seat, satisfied and smiling. “That’s good.”</p><p>They lapsed into a comfortable quiet and Roy wondered if he was the only one with a giddy feeling in his chest.</p><p>The Blue Creek parking lot was less of a lot and more of a simple dirt turn off beside the road with a worn path to the nearby creek it was named for. Roy’s white Ford Ranger was the only thing parked there. It’s paint was chipped and peeling and a bungee cord held one side of the tailgate closed.</p><p>Jason parked beside it, headlights pouring out into the trees. “Now I understand why you like my truck, because yours is a shit box," Jason said, amused. "No offense, I've had my fair share of those."</p><p>Roy only shrugged. “I know what I’ve got. It’s good enough.” He climbed out of Jason’s cab with his bag and unlocked the driver's side of his own. He set the bag with his bow on the bench seat and stuck the key in the ignition, switching it on but the engine didn’t start. Jason got out and went to his own tailgate while Roy popped the hood. </p><p>“Something wrong with it?” Jason asked from the back.<br/><br/>“Nothing a little knock on the starter won’t fix.” Roy located the familiar metal cylinder in the dim light and gave it a few wraps with the meat of his fist. He slammed the hood closed and returned to the cab. When he turned the key it started right up. Then he went to join Jason.</p><p>“Do you have to do that every time?” Jason asked.</p><p>“Nearly,” Roy said. “The brushes are worn out. It’s not a big deal.” They each grabbed one side of the tarp wrapped around the deer. </p><p>“Well, you’ll want to fix that before the snow starts coming because if you get stranded without cell service you’ll be pretty miserable. Ready? Okay, pull-” The two men grunted as they hauled the deer out of Jason’s truck and loaded it into Roy’s. </p><p>“I keep forgetting to order the part,” Roy lamented. With the deer loaded and truck warming up, it seemed like the right time to say goodbye and get home to Lian.</p><p>He stalled.</p><p>Roy pulled his hat off and set it on the wall of his truck bed so he could slide the tie out from his messy hair. He tilted his head back and ran his fingers through the long red strands in order to smooth it out. Looking up, the sight of a star filled sky made him smile. “Isn’t that nice? The stars are out tonight.” </p><p>Jason shifted beside him and pulled something from his pocket. Roy finished tying his hair into a bun and stuck his cap on backwards, smooshing the bun lower on his head. The flick of a lighter illuminated Jason’s face in the dark as he lit a cigarette. His sharp eyes glittered beneath the black of his lashes and brows. The light extinguished and Jason dropped his hand to stuff the Bic back in his pocket. The red cherry glowed and floated near Jason’s face, now barely visible except for a bluish glow from above. </p><p>Roy watched while the other man tipped his head back and exhaled toward the sky, long and slow, joining Roy in a bit of impromptu stargazing. It was cold now and Roy shoved his hands in his back pockets to warm them.</p><p>“You want one?” Jason drawled after another drag. </p><p>“I’m good.”</p><p>“Are there stars like this in Georgia?”</p><p>Roy thought about it as he examined the bright and nebulous streak of stars forming the Milky Way, clear and bright despite the half moon. “Not this bright. But in the desert? Oh yeah.”</p><p>“There’s no desert in Georgia, Roy,” Jason pointed out.</p><p>“Nope. But there is out West. I’ll tell you about it next time.”</p><p>“I look forward to it,” Jason said, steady and without revealing excitement. Natural, as if Next Time would come when it was meant to. </p><p>Roy looked to his new friend in the dark again. Now it was time to say goodbye.</p><p>“Thanks for the help, Jason.” He patted the tailgate to indicate his cargo. “If I can repay the favor just call me up. I usually have a little time on my hands, I work from home and all, these days.” He extended his hand toward Jason who tucked his cigarette into the corner of his mouth and reached out.</p><p>Jason’s hand was warm and dry with just the bite of cold at the tips of his fingers. He gave Roy’s hand one strong shake before letting go. “I’ve got your number. I’ll see you around town. Welcome home, Roy.”</p><p>It went straight to the heart and made Roy blink.</p><p>Roy stepped back between the two trucks while wishing, again, that he could see Jason’s face. He wanted to know if he was watching Roy go with a friendly smile. But Roy had to turn and get in his truck and close the door. He slowly backed onto the road, paused to glance at Jason’s black Ram and the headlights pouring into the trees, then pushed the gear into drive and rolled away.</p><p>The roads were still a little unfamiliar, but Roy had been scoping out this hunting spot for a week and returning to town in the dark wasn’t a problem. His mind drifted across the events of the day, from dawn until dusk. He touched each moment only enough to turn it and look at it from another side. The smell of the forest was clinging to his clothes and hair; dry leaves and pine, musty deer fur and the iron of blood. The sound of his bowstring vibrated close to his ear, along with the soft sound of Jason sighing smoke toward the night sky. Bark rasped against his fingers and the grass in the deer’s bed brushed soft and dreamy. Roy recalled labyrinthine tree branches and the Mobius curve of antlers. </p><p>Dove, Maine, named by its colonial settlers for the abundance of common wood-pigeons in the forest, had one main road and no traffic lights. Roy drove in beneath the sparse street lamps, past the sleepy library that had been converted from the old church, past the tiny police station and the only diner in town, and turned into the trailer park. One street lamp illuminated the center, shaped like a cul-de-sac. Roy pulled alongside his home, a faded blue single wide with two bedrooms, and parked. He grunted as he climbed out of the cab, tired and hungry. He’d been riding so high while talking with Jason that he’d hardly realized he had missed eating.</p><p>Roy shuffled up the steps and pushed open the door, leading right into the living room. The place was a mix of browns, walls of 1970s wood paneling and a dark yellow carpet, the pile of it worn in the center of the room while the edges along the wall resembled the original shag. </p><p>Lian was laying on the second hand maroon corduroy couch, her head propped on the arm rest, and a bag of microwave popcorn in her lap. She glanced away from the television set to look her Dad over. “You survived the woods. Did you get my text?” He smirked at her, walking over, and sat on the middle cushion which lightly trapped Lian against the back.</p><p>“I did, but I had no signal.” Roy shoved his hand into the popcorn bag, it’s paper sides crinkling from his hungry treatment. </p><p>“That’s <em> my </em> popcorn!” Lian protested in mock offense, pushing Roy with her knee while he shoved a handful in his mouth, hurried like she might steal it back. “You got my text but you had no signal to text back? Sounds suspect, Dad,” she warned him. “<em>I </em> think you were just ignoring me.”</p><p>“Never.” Roy took another handful of popcorn before Lian tucked up her knees and put her socked feet in his side and pushed him off of the couch. Roy got to his feet, wiping his popcorn butter fingers on the thigh of his pants. “Come help me hang this buck.”</p><p>“I would hope you shot something, what with how long you were gone,” Lian teased, getting to her feet. She shoved her sandals over her socks and followed him outside, hugging her arms around her torso. “Don’t let me touch any blood, I just had a shower,” she said.</p><p>“Here.” Roy held up part of the tarp for her to take, knowing it was clean, then walked around to the other side and grabbed the other end. They heaved together and hobbled over to the pole at the back of the house and put the animal below it.</p><p>“He’s heavy! No wonder it took you so long to drag him.”</p><p>Roy unfolded the tarp and had just enough light from the window of the house to relocate the rope from the antlers to the neck. He passed the rope over the rack and heaved, grunting at the effort to haul the weight upright and off the ground. "Lian," he said and she jumped to his side, taking the slack end of the rope and tying it off. Roy let go and lazily rolled up the tarp and dropped it in the truck bed as they passed it. </p><p>“I had some help,” Roy explained as they walked up the wood steps. “Met a nice guy, Jason.” Saying his name felt fresh and new, like a sound he’d never spoken before but was trying to learn. He pulled the door shut behind them and knelt down to untie his boots. Lian kicked her sandals off and returned to the couch. “We had a great conversation.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“Oh, all kinds of stuff. Just getting to know each other sort of thing.”</p><p>“Mhm. Well, it's good you made a friend, Dad."</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. phone call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New readers, hello! And happy 2021. Welcome to this little fic. </p><p>Returning readers should note this subtle change in the last chapter since it was posted - Jason's cabin is not complete but is livable, and Roy works from home. Both of these things will be expanded on. For now these things remain simple nods.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b>Late November - Nor’Easter season</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>This is a prepaid collect call from an inmate at a Georgia State Penitentiary. This call is subject to recording and monitoring. To accept: press 1.” </em> <br/><br/>Roy thumbed the screen and accepted the call. He pushed his laptop aside on the blanket. The bedroom was big enough to fit his full sized bed on it’s iron platform frame, his small black dresser, and a wobbly side table that collected his hair ties and water glasses. The top of the dresser was a landing zone for all of the usual contents of his pockets and other items of frequent use. </p><p>A small picture frame sat among the chaos with a horizontal photo from ten years ago. Lian, with her straight black bangs tickling her eyelashes, smiled big and wide. With her arms around Roy’s neck and his cheek in her hair and the content and truly <em> happy </em> look in his eyes, it was a precious keepsake for him to admire.</p><p>The bedroom was just as brown as the rest of the house. The mustard yellow shag carpet wasn’t nearly as worn here as it was in the living room. It was cozy, except for the slight chill at night that crept in through the single pane window that looked out at the forest behind the trailer park. The curtain kept out the worst of the cold when it was closed. </p><p>“<em>Your call has been connected. You may begin speaking now.</em>”</p><p>“Grant, it’s been raining for three days straight and it’s colder than hell frozen over.”</p><p>“Wow Roy, you’re <em> really </em> selling me on moving up north with you. Any snow yet?”</p><p>Roy crossed his free arm over his chest, tucked his fingers under the opposite upper arm, and idly watched the dreary scene out of his window. The trunks of young trees whipped about in the wind, drenched and dark. “Not yet,” he said. </p><p>Any drab yellow leaves still clinging to the birch trees, oval and saw-toothed, were pelted off of their branches by fat rain droplets. The dirt cul-de-sac in the Dove trailer park was filled with a half inch of water, running off from the raised ground around it. Besides folk going to work, or the kids going to school, no one in town went out for leisure, especially not into the woods. Roy remained indoors, keeping himself busy with casework.</p><p>“Some spitting at night, I guess. Lian’s getting impatient. She said I <em> promised </em> her that there would be snow by now.”</p><p>“Well then you better deliver some snow, Roy! Don’t leave her hanging like that,” Grant teased. </p><p>Over the clattering of rain on the tin roof Roy heard the sound of hissing air brakes; the school bus arriving in the trailer park. </p><p>“I think that’s her now,” he said. Roy swung his feet over the side of the bed and planted them on the carpet. As he walked out of the bedroom he passed the bathroom door on his left, and went through the galley style kitchen. The laminate countertops on either side were cream yellow and curling under the lip from years of water absorption. A fluorescent light ran the length of the ceiling overhead. The bathroom and kitchen shared the same laminate tile floor, cream and brown and blue squares stained a little darker in the places most frequently walked on. A wide window over the sink on the right faced the road and Roy saw the flash of yellow as he passed it, indicating the school bus really had arrived.</p><p>The other end of the kitchen let out into the living room. A small square table, big enough for a chair at each side, floated in the space between the two rooms. The couch sat across from the television and a shelf of games and books. Blankets were rumbled and spread over the couch. The hall continued past the living room to Lian’s small bedroom at the other end of the single wide home. </p><p>"She's just coming back from school."</p><p>“Perfect timing,” Grant said casually, as if he hadn’t been waiting in line to use the phone in his cell block and hoping to catch both Roy and Lian.</p><p>Through the living room window Roy watched the bus wheels send ripples through the inch deep puddles in the dirt. The doors hissed and parted and the kids that lived in the trailer park filed out. They were faceless with their hoods pulled up against the rain, or their arms over their heads. They all took off running for home. Lian’s shape, tall and long limbed among them, descended the stairs, her hand on the railing. </p><p>Roy nudged aside a sneaker that had strayed from the shoe mat and into the way of the door. He opened the door and held it aside against with his free hand. Cold rain spit sideways at his face. Taking the phone away from his ear, he called out to Lian who was already jogging toward the house, splashing up water with her boots.</p><p>“Hurry up kiddo, Grant’s on the phone!”</p><p>“Grant!” Lian doubled down and ran. Her feet pounded up the wooden steps of the house. Roy held the phone out and she grabbed it like a passed baton as she barreled by him and into the warm dry living room. Roy shut the door against the storm.</p><p>Leaving dampness on everything she touched, Lian dropped her backpack on a kitchen chair and stripped off her jacket, throwing it over the back. Then she took one big breath and lifted the phone to her cheek. “I <em> finally </em> finished that book and you will not <em> believe </em> what Susan did to…” Lian pulled her loose braid out of the back of her purple fleece sweater where it had been caught in the collar and walked off to her bedroom with Roy’s phone, talking the whole way. </p><p>Roy shuffled to the table that floated between the kitchen proper and the living room. He picked up the wet rain jacket and walked it back to the door and hung it among their other clothes on the wall beside it. As he wandered back toward the kitchen he heard the giddy sound of his daughter’s laughter coming from her bedroom and gave in to a soft chuckle himself. Roy put two frozen waffles into the toaster and went back to his room to collect his laptop. </p><p>Roy had only just sat down at the table with his computer when Lian returned. She had changed out of her jeans and into leggings, and came to stand beside her Dad’s chair. </p><p>“Call again tomorrow?” Lian asked, holding the phone to her ear with both hands. “Okay, but...if the lines for the phones aren’t long then you should call,” she pressed. “Promise, Grant?” Roy doubted that it took Grant any amount of convincing to call them. </p><p>Roy rocked his chair back and held out his hand, watching the way his daughter bent at the waist and her cheek followed the phone the whole way down to his hand, listening to Grant’s promise of calling the next day. The loose hair of her braid tickled his arm when it slithered over her shoulder. Lian uttered a final “bye Grant,” before she released the cellphone back into her father’s possession and stood upright. As Roy brought the phone to his ear she turned and braced her hands behind her on the table and lifted herself up to sit on it. Lian’s foot planted itself on Roy’s knee and he picked at the hem of her sock absently.</p><p>“How are you doing today?” Roy asked. The heavy sigh from the other side of the line was as much of an answer as any spoken word. In the background Roy could hear the usual clamor of the prison block and the distant murmur of other inmates. “One day at a time, Grant. Just take it one day at a time,” Roy said. His voice was soothing and easy. </p><p>“I’m-” Grant paused to clear his throat. Roy imagined him tucking close to the aluminum dial box bolted to the wall, shielding himself from the other inmates with his back. His voice was quiet and quick. “I’m- fuck, this can’t go fast enough.”</p><p>“The closer you get to the finish line, the more anxious you’re going to be. That’s totally normal, buddy.”</p><p>“I just want to be there already, with you and Lian.” Roy glanced up at his daughter who was watching him talk with Grant, her hands tucked in her lap and the sleeves of her sweater pulled down to her knuckles. “I don’t know what else to say. I just want to be there.”</p><p>“We’re anxious to see you, too,” Roy promised, getting a flicker of a smile from Lian. He tucked his hand behind the crook of her knee to warm his cold fingers. Something needed to be done about the chill seeping through the crack under the door. “But we’re not going anywhere. We <em> want </em> you.”</p><p>“<em>T</em><em>here is one minute remaining in your prepaid call.” </em></p><p>The frustrated grunt was clear across the line. </p><p>“Write down some of the things you want to do when you get here,” Roy suggested, easy as ever.</p><p>“He <em> needs </em> to watch <em> The Mummy </em> with me,” Lian insisted, loud enough to be heard by Grant.</p><p>“Like watching <em> The Mummy </em> with Lian.”</p><p>Though he didn’t sound convinced, Grant conceded to writing a list. “I’ll try it…”</p><p>“We’re here, bud.”</p><p>“Bye Roy.”</p><p>The line cut out and Roy and set the phone on the table. Gathering himself with a deep breath, he looked up at Lian and her sulky pout.</p><p>“Your waffles are done in the toaster.”</p><p>“<em>Yes </em>!” Roy’s knee deflected inward when she pushed off of it with her foot and hopped down from the table. Lian slid in her socks across the dated linoleum and plucked her snack out of the toaster. </p><p>Grant called the next day like he had promised and talked with Lian for the whole fifteen minutes he was allotted. He called nearly every day since they moved from Georgia where Grant’s penitentiary was and sent letters just as often to supplement the lack of visitation.</p><p>With his release date mere months away, it was natural for Grant to get anxious. He’d soon be leaving the world he knew to finally come live with Roy and Lian. They had agreed Roy needed to move to Maine ahead of time and get situated, appease the parole officer, and generally prepare for Grant’s release and parole transfer across states. </p><p>Just because it was the logical thing to do didn’t make the distance any easier. Roy patiently reminded Grant every day that he was expected, that Grant was wanted, and that, before he knew it, Grant would be settled into a quiet five years of parole. Even though it was Grant reaching desperately for some kind of reassurance in the outside world, it was Roy who did most of the talking. Grant needed encouragement to keep to his routine, to keep working out, keep reading his books, and to keep his head low. Getting into trouble now would be enough cause to lose his parole and the anxiety made Grant more likely to act out. </p><p>The rain tapered off into intermittent sprinkles over the weekend as the fingers of the cold hearted storm on the coast brushed away and southward to lash at the Cape. Fishermen on the news channel lamented the thrashing of their seaside towns and the streets were being swept of sand and seaweed. The dark days of rain relented to grey ones and the wildlife, having bedded down out of the wind, shook itself of dampness and emerged to look hungrily for something to eat. </p><p>Lian’s school friend, Colin Wilkes, braved the puddles of the trailer park to come knock on their door on Saturday morning after breakfast. Roy answered, barefoot with a coffee mug in hand.</p><p>“Morning,” Colin greeted. His rain jacket had been traded out for something made of fleece, worn at the elbows and collar, and especially in the armpits. It was half unzipped to the clammy morning air.</p><p>“Mornin’ kiddo.” Roy stepped aside to allow the teen in and onto the entry rug, where he stayed in order to politely avoid dripping any water he’d collected on his way across the park. “You have breakfast yet?” he offered as he shut the door but was softly declined.</p><p>Colin had copper hair and the long limbs of a boy shooting through a growth spurt. His voice cracked at the heart of every sentence, and his freckles disguised the pimples of puberty. Roy had watched the kids playing in the cul-de-sac with Lian and knew Colin was a fast runner and had a solid right hook he deployed when the other boys tackled him during their games. He was utterly unphased by the friendship and attention of girls, unlike many of his high school cohorts. If pressed, Roy would name Colin as Lian’s first friend in Maine. </p><p>Roy had been distracted with the moving van and the two men he’d hired to haul their belongings and when he had turned around to look for Lian at lunchtime he saw his daughter picking through the slippery August grass for crickets with a ginger headed boy. They were laughing and shrieking at the way the insects would ricochet inside the cage of their cupped and closed hands. </p><p>“Lian honey, Colin’s here,” Roy called toward the girl’s bedroom, then turned away to clear the table of breakfast plates. Her door snapped open and she skipped out to greet her friend. “What are you two doing today?” he wondered. Lian shoved her feet into her boots and pulled her jacket off of it’s hook beside the door.</p><p>“Colin said he’d show me how much water collected in the pond from the rain,” Lian explained.</p><p>“Please don’t get soaked and cold, okay?” Roy asked of her, putting the dishes in the sink. Lian flung the front door open and he leaned back to catch sight of her stepping through it. “Okay? Hey, have fun!” he called after them. </p><p>Colin paused on the top step, made out of water rotten wood planks, and poked his head in. “Bye!” he said and pulled the door closed behind them. Roy turned on the hot water from the tap and watched through the window over the sink as the pair shuffled through puddles and towards the tree line and the overgrown trail that led to the pond nearest this side of town, a place frequented by the kids, Roy was learning. </p><p>Water still dripped from the roof, and despite the storm having passed, the world outside was still wet and sodden. Evergreens shuddered and shook at the slightest breeze and unloaded a thousand droplets with one flick of a branch. The world seemed a little dim from the overcast clouds. Fog insulated the landscape with a tricky warmth, but it was too cold for any worms to collect in the puddles so birds had to look elsewhere for their meals. As he washed the dishes Roy watched the activity on the neighbor’s bird feeder and wondered, not for the first time, if he might get his own. Nuthatch and finch and tufted titmouse all rotated for a morning feeding, starved silly after huddling in the trees and out of the wind. </p><p>Roy himself was aching to be outside and out of his proverbial nest. He was plenty good at staying occupied in the house with work and his engineering magazines and games with Lian and unpacking the final moving box he had shoved into the corner of his closet. But it was the woods that called to him and handed him a certain kind of peace that he was still trying to parse out.</p><p>After cleaning up, Roy dressed and was pulling on his jacket to follow Lian’s lead and make his way out into the world when his phone began ringing. It was a little early for Grant to be calling, his cell block didn’t have phone privileges until mid afternoon. His next thought was that it could be a call from work, or maybe the parole officer wanted to pay a visit. He shoved his arm through the second sleeve and palmed his cellphone from his pocket. </p><p>Seeing the simple name ‘Jason’ across the screen made Roy pause. The ‘<em> ssnick </em>’ of a lighter hitched in his chest and he blinked at the memory of the man’s face, a little flame making it glow in an orange halo while lighting his cigarette beneath a starry sky. He heard Jason’s raspy laugh in the truck, driven to blushing by Roy’s teasing.</p><p>Roy sucked his cheeks between his teeth and took in a breath as he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Roy Harper,” he exhaled and pretended, to himself, that he hadn’t just been reminded of the giddy feeling that night had left in him a week ago. To distract himself, Roy tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek and knelt on one knee to tie his boot. </p><p>“Harper, it’s Jason. How are ya’?” the man rattled off politely. </p><p>“I’m good. And you can call me Roy.” </p><p>“Roy.” </p><p>The laces of the boot pulled tight with a flick of Roy’s wrist and he waited, listening to the sound of his own name sustained in the quiet pause between them, rasped and rolled and rumbled in Jason’s mouth. </p><p>“How are <em> you </em>?” Roy said suddenly, worried he had waited too long to return the courtesy. He rocked himself to the side and switched his kneeling leg in order to tie the other boot. “That was quite a bit of rain we had, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“Quit a bit, yeah. Windy, too. You know how to use a chainsaw?” </p><p>Roy’s brows shot up. “Um. Yeah. Why?” He finished tying off his boot and took the phone into his hand again as he got to his feet.</p><p>“You said something about returning a favor and I was thinking I could use some help this weekend. Two trees came down in the storm at my place and I want to put the logs up in the shed to start drying. If that sounds like something you’re up for…” </p><p>“Yes!” Roy answered right away. “Today?”</p><p>“That’s ideal, the wood will just get wetter laying on the ground.” </p><p>“I can come over, I’m not busy. Do I need to bring anything?” he asked, glancing around at his house as if he would magically spot the perfect item to bring on this venture with Jason. That was silly, Jason likely had everything he needed and was simply requesting another body for the work. “How about I grab us some coffee on the way over? What do you like?” Never mind that he already had coffee that morning. Roy shut off the lights and snagged up his keys from the hook by the door. They clinked against the brass door handle as he opened it with that same hand. </p><p>It was quiet for a moment while Roy locked up the house. At the bottom step he toed a rock onto its side and confirmed the spare key was still hidden there for Lian to use when she returned from the pond with Colin. “Jason?” he prompted, pausing. </p><p>“Coffee sounds...nice. Just a large cup from the corner store, black.” He was quieter as he said it.</p><p>“Okay. Large. And I think I remember where you live. But if I’m not there in an hour would you mind sending up a flare?” Roy walked up to his truck, getting his knuckles wet on the door handle while he unlocked it.</p><p>The snort on the other side of the call was immensely satisfying and Roy grinned into it. “It’s not that hard to find my place,” Jason insisted, and reminded Roy where his driveway was located in relation to the Blue Creek parking lot they had parted from last time. “See you soon.”</p><p>“Yeah.” When the call ended, Roy stabbed his key into the ignition of the truck and turned it. “God- come on,” he groaned when the engine didn’t even try to start. He slid back out of the door and around to prop the hood and wrap on the starter a few times with his fist. Roy simply left the truck running when he stopped at the corner store and gathered up two coffees. He tucked Jason’s coffee into the cup holder and held his own while he drove away from the main strip of town. </p><p>The houses quickly disappeared after a minute of driving and then Roy was left to wind his way through the tree lined back roads. The ditches beside the road were flowing quickly with grey water after the storm and in many places it puddled out into the road and foamed white when he drove through them. There were no cars at the Blue Creek turn off when Roy passed it, only a few crows scraping at the dirt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I &lt;3 comments and hope you're well.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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